


One Step Ahead

by Scribomaniac



Series: Tumblr Prompts [9]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Cute, F/M, Fluff, Funny, Modern AU, More characters to come, Pre-Relationship, Short, assassin!aelin, he's just trying his best, hey this has a plot now, rowaelin, rowan gets manipulated, thief!rowan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-10-12 00:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10477665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribomaniac/pseuds/Scribomaniac
Summary: Prompt: Rowaelin-both have the same target/break into the same place and run into each other?





	1. Sure Footed

Rowan sucked in a deep, steady breath before propelling himself off the roof of a building and through the open window of the building adjacent to it.  Curling himself into a ball at the very last second, the white haired thief just barely made it through the window pane without hitting the edges.  Hitting the carpeted office floor, he somersaulted once to ward off any possible injury and hopped to his feet in one smooth, graceful motion.  Rolling his shoulders back, stretching the muscles in them and his back out and warming them out for his next task.  His job was a simple one: go in, retrieve the wanted item, and get out before anyone realized he’d ever been there.  Step one was complete.  He was in the office building of one Athril Dearst, the ‘ _people’s champion_ ’ and current D.A. for the city of Wendlyn.  He’d stolen something from his boss, the notorious mafiosa of the neighboring metropolis, Doranelle, Maeve, and she wanted it back.

Rowan didn’t know what exactly Athril had stolen from Maeve, and he didn’t particularly care, but he knew enough to locate what had been taken. Maeve had told him he’d find it somewhere in Athril’s desk.  A file.  That’s what he’d been told.  A thick one, too. With a plastic, evidence bag containing a small, golden ring inside.  Once he discovered the ring, Maeve had ordered, he need not to look further.  Vaguely, in the back of his mind, the white haired thief wondered how Athril–or one of his minions–had gotten so close to his boss to steal something of any real value, but it wasn’t his place to ask.  Asking questions would amount to nothing, anyway, except, perhaps, his death.  But Maeve knew who she was sending in to do her dirty work.  Rowan Whitethorn was the best _Cleaner_ in the country.  If you wanted a mess cleaned up, you called Rowan.

He was a third of the way through his schedule, now he just had to find the file and get out without being seen.  That had never been a problem for the thief before, so he couldn’t fathom it being one now.  He was an efficient, calculated worker.  He’d scouted the area for forty eight hours prior to his infiltration.  He knew the custodians schedules by heart.  He knew that even if the lawyers and interns weren’t going home to their families they weren’t sticking around to work on a Friday night.  And he also knew that due to a construction project occurring down the street–one that was not fully up to city code and regulation–the power lines to the city block would be down for a grand total of two minutes and thirty seven minutes, security cameras included.  That was more than enough time for a professional such as himself.  

Yes, everything was going exactly to plan.  That is, until he opened the door to the D.A.’s office and found a young, pretty blonde woman sitting behind the desk with her legs stretched out atop it, one crossed over the other.  Her gaze was down turned towards the file that laid in her lap, and turning over and over across her fingers was Maeve’s gold ring.  “Took you long enough,” the woman said by way of greeting.  “And here I thought you might prove to be a challenge.”

“What’re you doing here?” Rowan growled, his green eyes narrowing on her form.  It was casual, but almost too casual, like she was luring him in to a false sense of security.  He didn’t need to ask who she was–her looks and behavior answered that question easily enough.  Before him sat Adarlan’s Assassin.  Rumor was her name was Celaena something or other, but the white haired man didn’t put much stock in rumors.  Her real name was irrelevant, however.  The more pressing question was _what was an assassin doing in the D.A.’s office?_  Followed quickly by _and why does she have Maeve’s file?_    

The assassin hummed noncommittally, keeping her gaze on the file before her.  “Same as you, I’d expect.”  She finally raised her gaze to his and only Rowan’s years of training kept him from blinking appreciatively.  She was beautiful, even with a skin peeling smirk cutting across her full lips.  She was dangerous.  Every cell in Rowan’s body was screaming at him that she was.  But then again, he thought as a smirk pulled at his own lips, so was he.  

“Now, as far as I can see it we’ve got two options here,” she explained, removing her feet slowly from the desk and standing.  She flipped Maeve’s file shut and tapped the manila cover with her pointer finger.  “We could either fight over this thing and probably use up the remaining minute we’ve got left before the security comes back on–which would be pretty rutting stupid,” she gave him a pointed look, as if daring him to be _that_ stupid.  “Or,” she quirked a brow and pushed the file across the desk, “you take the damn file and we go our separate ways–pretending like this conversation never happened.”

Tilting his head a bit, he asked, “That’s it?  You’re just going to give up your prize without a fight?  What would your client say?”

Shrugging, the assassin cocked a hip and rested her hand on it, “I’ve already read through the juicy parts.  I don’t need the actual thing.”

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Rowan stepped up and secured the file.  He opened his mouth, about to inquire about the ring, when suddenly the blonde haired woman was standing right next to him.  Stiffening, but not moving away–she was fast, he internally cursed himself for not monitoring her movement, for letting his guard down even just a bit–he peered down at her.  “I’ve heard about you, you know,” she purred, her blue eyes glinting in the dim light.  “Rowan Whitethorn, infamous _Cleaner_.  Second to none.” Patting his upper arm, she lightly drew her fingers down his bicep.  “The rumors never mentioned how handsome you were.  They’re not doing you justice.”  A pretty blush bloomed over her cheeks, and Rowan realized suddenly how young she was.  She couldn’t be a day over twenty.  If that.

“You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” Rowan responded coolly.  He wasn’t about to be fooled by a pretty face.  This woman was a viper’s nest, just waiting to strike.  

She blinked, shock shattering through her carefully crafted mask.  Rowan quirked a brow and grinned victoriously.  The girl had created a name for herself, no one would doubt that, but the assassin was hardly a spy.  And seeing her youth, her inexperience shown through.  She was a good killer, but didn’t have the discipline for espionage.  Maybe in a few more years, Rowan mused.

Snatching her hand back as if she’d been burned, the assassin’s blush grew and she timidly looked down at her feet. She began to shift her feet restlessly, another sign of her inexperience. Fiddling with her fingers, she murmured, “Celaena.”

“Nice to meet you Celaena,” Rowan chuckled, and watched as Celaena’s face twisted into a scowl.

Pouting, the assassin pushed the file further into his chest and huffed, “Ugh, just take the stupid thing and leave!”  Then, in a dramatic fashion that could only belong to a teenager, Celaena turned heel and disappeared down the hall. Shaking his head and chuckling a bit more, Rowan figured he had about twenty more seconds before the power came back on and quickly made his escape out the building and into the faceless city streets. 

It was only later–much, much later–that Rowan realized that in getting caught up in Celaena’s dramatic, teen-aged bull, he’d completely forgotten about Maeve’s ring. Stopping in the middle of the street, he slapped his hand to his forehead and groaned. 

“Shit.” 


	2. Bitter Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan gets manipulated . . . again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberties with the Ashryver and Galathynius family tree so please bear with me.

Rowan dreaded the idea of walking through the large, solid oak door in front of him. Maeve was on the other side of that door. His possible death was on the other side of that door, and after having been outsmarted by Adarlan's Assassin, that scenario seemed highly probable. He still couldn't believe he'd been swindled by her--Celeana. The title and reputation didn't fit the girl he'd encountered earlier that night. She was young--younger than anyone knew or even suspected. Before tonight, Rowan wouldn't have guessed she was any younger than thirty. Meeting the woman behind the myth tonight, the white haired thief had to admit that he was impressed. She was a force of nature. Someone not to be trifled with or underestimated. Gritting his teeth, Rowan swore that he'd never make that mistake again. Squaring his shoulders, he took in a deep, steadying breath, and opened the door.

Maeve sat behind her desk, her dark hair and even darker eyes illuminated in the blue-white light of her computer screen. She didn't even look at him as he entered, didn't even raise a brow. "Do you have it?" She asked, immediately getting to the point. Still her gaze never strayed from the screen before her. Rowan hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. That did draw her attention. "Well?" She asked again, her sharp tone cutting into his soul.

 

"I have the files," he said, walking forward and placing them on the desk before her. Maeve's dark eyes flickered down at the Manila folder before her, then back to him. She quirked a brow, silently prompting him for more. "I don't have the ring." He admitted, trying hard not to fidget under her glare.  Maeve was cut throat, and intolerant of failure.  She hadn't become a crime boss by making friends and giving second chances, after all.  

"Where is it?"  She hissed, standing up to slam her hands down on the desk.  

"I wasn't the only one sent to Dearst's office," Rowan told her slowly, trying not to show his fear at her wrath.  Normally Maeve remained apathetic and unmoving, never letting herself show any sort of emotion.  But now, with the anger and frustration radiating off her in waves, Rowan genuinely feared for his eternal soul.  Maeve's nostrils flared dangerously, so Rowan continued, "Adarlan's Assassin was there.  She took the ring.  I'll get it back," he swore quickly, seeing Maeve's already pale face drain of all color.  

"Adarlan's Assassin," she repeated, her eyes darting away.  "Of course," she whispered.  Sighing, the crime boss sat back down into her chair and sighed heavily. "Has anyone told you about my past, Rowan?"  She asked, her eyes not on him but on the ceiling above.  Rowan stayed quiet, sure this was a trap.  Maeve was known for many things and being nostalgic wasn't one of them.  A bark of a laugh escaped her lips, shaking her chest, and Rowan's green eyes flashed.  "Surely you've heard at least one rumor?"

"No, ma'am," he answered surely.  Of course, he'd heard many stories about how Maeve had come into being.  his favorite was that she was born of shadow and spite.  That she grew stronger with every angry and bitter emotion aimed at her.  It certainly explained why she was such a bitch, but the white haired thief valued his life too much to mention any of that.  

"I always know when you're lying, Rowan, never forget that," she said darkly and had to repress a flinch.  "But I'll forgive you this once."  She arched her back, cracking it in the process, and stood again.  This time she opened a drawer and pulled out a picture frame before walking over to stand before him.  Handing him the frame, she said, "I had a brother, once.  Did you know that?  His name was Orlon."

Rowan looked down at the picture in his hands.  It was a younger Maeve--though how much younger, he couldn't say since she looked exactly the same--and a young man with dark brown hair and a kind smile.  Rowan had never heard any stories about Maeve having a brother, or any family for that matter, and he couldn't help but wonder why she was telling this to him.  

"He was killed," she said simply, without feeling.  Like she was merely stating the weather.  "In his sleep.  In his home.  Along with his son, Rhoe, and his daughter in law, Evalin."  Maeve sighed again, and there was so much sadness in it, so much loneliness, it made Rowan's heart sting.  If it weren't for her outburst earlier, this would have been the most emotion Rowan had ever witnessed from her.  "Did you look in the file?"

Rowan blinked, slowly tearing his eyes away from the picture in his hands and to his boss.  "No."

Maeve hummed and tapped the thick manila folder thoughtfully, "It's theirs--their unsolved case file."  She admitted quietly.  Luckily, rowan had exceptionally good hearing.  "That ring is important, Rowan," her eyes flashed to his and Rowan saw a hint of mania behind them.  

"To the case?"  He asked, his white eyebrows furrowing as he tried to understand.

Maeve scoffed, "The case," she nodded, "and to me.  I gave that to Orlan ages ago, back when it was just the two of us alone and against the world."  Tilting her head, she asked, "Do you know who killed my brother and his family, Rowan?"  He shook his head.  "Celeana Sardothien," she growled, her upper lip curling back and her white teeth gleaming.  "Adarlan's Assassin.  And now she's taunting me.  She knew what that ring meant to me.  What _Orlan_ meant to me.  And now she has it in her dirty little claws."

Rowan felt like he was going to be sick.  This interaction was turning out so much worse than he'd imagined.  He'd never let Maeve down before, and the one time he fails, he fails spectacularly.  Maeve's shoulders were hunched, her lower lip wobbling with unchecked emotion.  She looked so small, so vulnerable.  Rowan wanted to tear himself apart.  Celeana's face flashed in his mind, her strange blue-gold eyes flashing with wicked mirth and mischief, and his heart twisted.  No, he thought, he wanted to tear _her_ apart.  

"I'll fix it," he swore.

Maeve's eyes brightened with hope, "Swear it, Rowan," she whispered.  "Swear you'll kill her.  Return what's rightfully mine.  Swear it."

No hesitation, "I swear."

Maeve smiled at him, so soft and shy it almost made him want to cry.  "Thank you, Rowan."

Rowan left Maeve's office with determination in his eyes and a war cry in his heart.  She didn't know it yet, but Celaena Sardothien's days were numbered.  For all the pain and misery she'd caused as Adarlan's Assassin, Rowan Whitethorn would return it ten thousand fold.  She'd rue the day she ever thought to screw with Rowan's queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So anyone believing Maeve's sob story? . . .No? No takers? Good.
> 
> It's short but I just felt like writing and this scene popped into my head. It also gives me a relatively good plot line for the story. I'm pretty inconsistent with updates right now because I'm getting used to a new job and it's schedules but never fear! I won't be giving up on this fic, kay?
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought!


	3. Spider's Eyes and Snake's Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan does some research, and realizes that things don't add up.

Rowan hadn't slept a wink that night. After what Maeve had confided in him, after finding out what a monster Celaena was, he knew he wouldn't be sleeping for several nights. Not until he found her again. Not until she paid for everything she had done to his mistress. The impatient part of him, the part of him that belonged to the wind and lead him this way and that, wanted him to start his hunt immediately. But the other part of him, the part that had made a name for himself in the underworld as the best Cleaner in the business, knew he had to do his research first. After leaving Maeve's office, he'd begun to pack. It didn't take much time—in his business, one learned how to pack efficiently and lightly. Afterwards, he opened his laptop and began searching for every clue, every scrap of information the world had on Adarlan's Assassin. He knew her name was Celaena, and that helped; had a rough estimate of her age, which narrowed the search some; and knew that she belonged to Arobynn Hamel's guild, but beyond that he didn't have much to go on. He felt like there was too much he didn't know, and for him to do his job, he needed to know everything.

The morning sun was just barely cresting over the horizon, illuminating his room in hues of pink, orange, and red, when the thief had just about had it with his research. No one knew anything about Adarlan's Assassin. Nothing more than he did, anyway. At one point, Rowan had thought he's found a lead—one of his contacts told him to inquire about a Sam Cortland, but it turned out to be a dead end after discovering Cortland had died in a car accident three years previous. Rowan had snorted at the time. Car accident. People hardly ever actually died of car accidents. No, it'd been a hit. He could just tell. He'd bet money that it'd been Celaena's handiwork, too. It seemed, much to the white haired man's chagrin, that if he wanted answers about the assassin's identity, he's either have to ask Celaena herself, or the man who made her: Arobynn Hamel. Neither option seemed preferable.

Trying to take his mind off that choice, and stall a bit for time, he began research the Adarlan's Assassin's marks. The death toll was in the hundreds, and those were just the known victims. Maeve's brother and his family weren't listed, but that didn't surprise Rowan. He's researched the Galathynius massacre, too. It happened twelve years ago, probably before Celaena had claimed her title and when she was just starting out and trying to make a name for herself. Still, something rankled at the back of Rowan's mind. He was missing something. Something very obvious. He just couldn't figure out what.

“Whitethorn,” a low voice called to him from his door way. Rowan blinked slowly before turning to see Lorcan Salvaterre smirking at him while leaning against the door jamb. “I'm surprised your still breathing.”

“Oh?” Rowan raised a brow, unamused. Lorcan was always trying to goad him or rile him up. He was pretty good at ignoring the dark haired man, but in his sleep deprived state, Rowan knew it'd take most—if not all—of his will power not to let the other man under his skin. “Why's that?”

“You failed Maeve,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It probably should have been, given Maeve's reputation, but Rowan merely shrugged him off. “And,” Lorcan continued, his smirk widening and a gleeful glint burning behind his eyes, “word around the compound is you were bested by a little girl.”

“What?” Rowan's eye twitched. Something tried to fire up in his brain, but it was like a dying car battery and just wouldn't turn over. “What'd you just say?”

“Adarlan's Assassin?” Lorcan said, thinking he was finally getting a response out of the Cleaner. “Rumor has it she's just a little girl . . . a little girl who kicked your ass,” he chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Just a little girl,” Rowan repeated slowly. “That's it!” He hissed, the white haired man closed hiss laptop and grabbed his bag before shouldering past Lorcan and out of the compound. Realization hit him like a freight train. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been the past few hours. How could he have been so blind? So obtuse? He'd known this whole time how young Celaena was—hell, he'd even been impressed by it—so how he could've missed that detail, how he missed the connection, was beyond him. Rowan's mind was whirring, traveling one thousand miles a second as he found his car and began to drive on autopilot towards Rifthold. Celaena couldn't be more than twenty years old. Adarlan's Assassin had been around for five years, give or take one year. Orlon Galathynius had been killed over a decade ago. Celaena would have only been eight at the time—again, give or take a year. Rowan knew assassins started young, but eight? That was unheard of. She could only have been in training at the very most. There was no way Celaena could have killed Maeve's family. But now, Rowan thought as turned sharply onto the highway, that left him with a new mystery to solve: who _did_ kill the Galathynius family?

It was barely mid-morning when he crossed the border into Rifthold, the green painted metal sign welcoming him into the cesspool of a city. He hadn't wanted to do this before, not when there were so many unknowns, but now, with one particular _known_ , Rowan drove up the long drive way towards Arobynn Hamel's mansion. The neighborhood surrounding the headquarters for the Assassin's Guild was quiet, at peace. The mansions next door were all owned by private families who were probably just starting their day. Rowan wondered if they knew they bought houses next to a hell mouth, and if they did, wondered if they got them at a discounted price. Stepping out of his car, Rowan could feel himself being watched. He wasn't sure where exactly the security cameras were, but he knew they were all pointed at him. Shaking off the feeling, the thief walked up the many steps and rang the door bell. It didn't take long for one of the mansion's large oak doors to open.

Rowan came face to face with a man slightly shorter than himself, and much broader. His face was plain and unremarkable, and if Rowan had to pick him out in a line up, he wasn't sure he'd be able to do it. “Who're you?” The man asked, his voice gruff and so low Rowan could barely hear.

Knowing it was unwise to use his actual name, Rowan responded by asking a question of his own, “I'm looking for Celaena, is she here?”

“Celaena?” The man sneered, “Bitch hasn't been here for months.”

That made Rowan's white brows furrow. That didn't make any sense to him. Celaena belonged to the Assassin's Guild—to Arobynn. All his sources agreed. “Any idea where she is?”

“He doesn't,” a new voice chimed in. A taller, leaner man stepped up from deep within the house. He had red hair and a matching beard, and bright green eyes that pierced into Rowan's soul. It was the King of Assassins himself. “But I do,” he continued. “Tern,” he addressed the shorter man, “see that Lysandra makes her way back to Clarisse safely.” Arobynn waited for Tern to turn and leave before returning his attention to the white haired man on his door step. “Well, well, well, what has my protege done to warrant a visit from Rowan Whitethorn?” His tone was calm, his voice smooth as silk, but Rowan could see the red haired man for what he was: a spider, waiting eagerly for his prey to fly into his web.

“She has something of mine,” Rowan answered vaguely, his face a blank slate. Arobynn would garner no information from him.

Clucking his tongue, Arobynn tilted his head to the side, “Something shiny, I bet. She always did like her pretty things.”

“Do you know where she is, or not?” Rowan asked, his patience thinning.

Arobynn hummed and pretended to play with the cuff links on his sleeves, “Information is currency in our world, Mr. Whitethorn, you know that.” His green eyes flickered up, latching on to Rowan's gaze. “What will you do for me in return for that information?”

“What do you want?”

“Celaena has something of mine as well. A small trinket, really, but it's an heirloom, and I hate the thought of her losing it . . . it's a necklace, you could say,” he described slowly, carefully choosing each word as he described the lost item. “It has a crowned stag carved onto it. I would like you to return it for me.”

Rowan blinked slowly, trying not to let his brows furrow with confusion or his jaw tighten with frustration. What was with all these lords of the underworld and their jewelry? Exhaling slowly, Rowan nodded. Retrieving a necklace seemed like a small price to pay to find Celaena, “Deal,” he said, extending his hand. Then, before Arobynn could seal the deal, Rowan pulled back his hand and added, “If your information proves valuable.”

Arobynn looked like he swallowed something sour, but only for a fleeting moment, then his face relaxed and he smiled congenially, and shook Rowan's hand, “My sources tell me she's been seen skulking around the Warehouse District—specifically, the Faliq and Daughters Bakery. Happy hunting,” he squeezed Rowan's hand, gave him a tight lipped smile that reminded Rowan of a snake, and retreated back into his mansion.

Wiping his hand along the side of his pant leg, Rowan sighed and shook his head before walking down the mansion's stone steps back to his car. Deciding he was going to need to re-energize before heading towards Rifthold's Warehouse District and trying to find Celaena, he searched for the closest Starbucks on his phone and gunned it out of the drive way, leaving black tire marks along the pavement in his wake. Grinding his teeth together, he wondered what would happen when he finally did come face to face with Celaena again. Would he be able to get the truth out of her? About Maeve, the ring, the Galthynius's? Did she even have Arobynn's necklace anymore? Would she give it over to him, or would he have to fight her for it? Shaking his head, he tried to clear his thoughts. He needed to find her first, the questions would come later. Exhaling sharply through his nostrils, Rowan realized it was gearing up to be one hell of a day, and glancing at the clock on his dash, he groaned when he saw it wasn't even noon yet.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there's some misspellings or the like! I tried to catch them all, but my version of word is kinda going senile. Anyway, let me know what you thought of this chapter either by leaving a review or a kudos! Celaena will definitely be in the next chapter in case you were wondering. Also, I couldn't remember what Tern looked like, and his wikia page has NOTHING, so if anyone knows please inform me! 
> 
> I think that's everything?


	4. All Monsters Have Mothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan finds Celaena. Finally. But that doesn't mean his questions have lessened any.

It took Rowan almost no time at all to find the Faliq and Daughter's Bakery within the Warehouse district, though he did raise a brow at the sight of it. The building was in shambles—rickety roof tiles, cracks in the facade, clouded windows, grimy with dust. It looked like it was on its last legs and any moment now a foreclosure sign would sprout from the ground and the entire establishment would collapse. Regardless of how it looked, the smells wafting out of it were enough to make Rowan's mouth salivate and his stomach rumble. A steady stream of people, obviously apathetic to the place's aesthetics, entered and exited the building with smiles on their faces and baked goods in their possession. Knowing better than to judge a book by it's cover—especially if the subject of that book was Celaena—Rowan kept his wits sharp and his ears perked for anything and everything as he walked into the bakery.

The interior matched the exterior perfectly, but at least the small, circular tabletops looked clean. Green eyes scanning the few patrons eating in, Rowan's jaw ticked when he saw that Celaena was no where in sight. Walking up to the counter, a young woman with short black hair, brown skin, and copious amounts of eye liner looked at him with dark, bored eyes, and asked, “What can I get you?”

Ignoring his baser needs and the clench of his stomach, Rowan leaned in across the counter and tilted his head, “I'm looking for Celaena—you wouldn't have one in stock, would you?”

Quirking a brow, the girl snorted, “No, what shit are you on?”

Eye flitting down to her name tag, then back up to her eyes, Rowan cleared his throat, “Nesryn, I assure you I am not on any sort of shit, though you yourself seem to have recently taken a hit of the bull variety.” Nesryn's jaw jutted out and she glared at him. “I know she visits this place—that she may even be here right now. Now, Nesryn,” he narrowed his eyes on her, “we can do this the easy way or the hard way. The easy way—you telling me where Celaena is—ends with me buying a slice of that decadent looking apple pie, and the hard way—you not telling me—ends with your family losing their business license by the end of the day. Now,” he paused, straightening his posture to intimidate her with his full height, “which is it going to be?”

Nesryn's upper lip twitched, the first sign of a snarl about to appear, and her shoulders tensed. Nostrils flaring, the dark haired girl growled, “Fuck off. I don't know who you think you are, but you better listen to me when I say I don't know this Celaena chick you're after, and if you even breath at my family the wrong way you will have a target on your back for the rest of your life—and trust me when I say I don't miss.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Rowan smirked, “You're gonna regret this—”

“Oh, _enough_ with the pissing contest!” A voice called out from Rowan's right. Smirk sliding off his face, Rowan's head snapped to watch Celaena stride out from the kitchen.

“Celae—” Nesryn objected, glaring arrows at the blonde, but the assassin merely waved her off.

“It's okay, Faliq,” she said, her eyes honing in on Rowan's. “He's an old friend,” she purred. Motioning to a corner of the bakery with her chin, Celaena silently led Rowan over to one of the small, circular tables and sat down, looking to all the world like a young woman without a single solitary care. They sat down across from each other and stared at one another in silence. No words were spoken, no hands were gestured, no sounds were made, and yet a conversation was had.

Celaena quirked a golden brow, _Looking for me, buzzard?_

_You have something of mine_ , he responded with a mere tilt of his head and the narrowing of his eyes, _I'm here to get it back._

_And how are you going to do that?_

_By force, if necessary._

Leaning across the table top, she bit her bottom lip in an attempt to suppress a grin, _Is that a promise?_

Scoffing, Rowan had to turn hid head to the side to a hide a secret smile of his own. Quickly schooling his features, he looked back at the assassin and said, “I need the ring, Aelin. It belongs to Maeve.” He also needed some necklace for Arobynn's information, but he figured that particular piece of jewelry could wait for later.

Celaena sneered, “Oh, yeah? Did she tell you that?” She leaned back in her seat and smoothed out her facial features. Rowan felt a chill run down her spine at the iciness in her gaze, “Then again, the Queen of Darkness believes _everything_ belongs to her, doesn't she? Places, things . . . people, even.”

There was a challenge in Celaena's words, and an image of Rowan's friends Fenrys and Connall flashed through his mind, but he forced it away. “This isn't a game, Celaena. If you don't return the ring, Maeve will declare war the Assassin's Guild. Your master won't be too happy about that.”

“My master?” Celaena snorted out a laugh, “What? Arobynn?” She tapped her fingers against the table top and tisked, “Your information's outdated, Rowan. I left the Guild months ago. Maeve can declare war on him all she'd like.”

Rowan blinked. Adarlan's Assassin left the Guild? And he didn't know about it? That was slightly worrying to the white haired male, but he'd have to update his sources later. “All that means is she'll attack you, and you'll have no one to protect your from her wrath.”

Rolling her eyes, the assassin puckered her lips and pretended to consider his warning, “So you're saying little ol' me against Maeve and all her minions?” Her eyes blazed, burning into his, and he gulped. No one had ever looked at him like that before. It made him feel like she was setting him ablaze, and, if he was being honest with himself, he kind of liked it. “I'll take my chances.”

Patience dwindling, Rowan bared his teeth, “Don't be stupid. You really want to pick a fight with the Queen of Darkness? Over some ring? The thing won't even get you a hundred dollars on the streets.”

“You're right, it won't,” she agreed. “But it's not about the money. It's about the memories.”

Brows furrowing, nostrils flaring, green eyes glinting, Rowan knew he had lost all his composure and looked like a mythic bird of prey before its victim. The girl sitting before him disappeared and all Rowan could see was Maeve, wistfully looking at a photo of her long dead brother; of the news clipping pictures of the Galathynius family; of the crime scene photos and Orlon's slit throat; of the new headline that kept popping up, again and again: _Adarlan's Assassin Strikes Again!_

_“_ You're a real piece of work, you know that? Barely twenty and already a monster,” Rowan sneered. Celaena's brows rose in surprise, not understanding his sudden anger. “How old were you, huh?” He scooted to the edge of his seat and leaned across the small table, invading her personal space, “How old were you when you slaughtered Maeve's family in cold blood? Eight, nine? You must have broken a record—youngest assassin there ever was.”

“Maeve's family,” Celaena repeated slowly, her tongue forming around each word specially. Her brows had furrowed so much they looked almost fused together. “And what do you know about _Maeve's_ family?”

“I know you have their blood on your hands, and that you still revel in it—why else would you keep the ring?”

Chuckling, Caelaena shook her head, as if this whole conversation amused her. And as far as Rowan knew, it did. “Ah yes, the Galathynius's.” Tilting her head, she pointed her index finger at him, “Let me guess, Maeve gave you some sob story about how I killed her brother? Slit poor old Orlon's throat while he slept? Did the same to his son and smothered his daughter in law? Kidnapped his granddaughter and chopped her up into tiny pieces to sate my _monstrous_ appetite? And what, took the ring as a memento—”

“Granddaughter?” Rowan interrupted, her words breaking through his rage. “What granddaughter?” Maeve hadn't mentioned one, and there was no mention of one in the obituaries he'd researched. Why did he feel— _again_ —that he was missing something? That he didn't have all the information?

Just as before, Celaena's face smoothed out and just like that, she shut down. Frost radiated from her, and Rowan likened her to an impregnable, icy fortress. Something inside him screamed at him to break past that barrier, to bring the fire—that beautiful, consuming fire—back into her gaze. But he didn't know how. He didn't have the tools. He didn't have the information. So, although he knew it wouldn't do him any good, he asked again, “What granddaughter?”

The assassin shrugged, “What does it matter? She's dead, anyway, same as the rest.”

“No,” he peered at her owlishly, trying to find a weakness in her facade—a chink in her icy persona. “This matters,” he murmured. He was pushing against a solid wall, and it wasn't budging, not even an inch. Deciding to switch tactics, he asked, “Why antagonize Maeve? Why keep the ring from her?”

“You said it yourself, buzzard,” she responded sharply, “I'm a monster, _reveling_ in my past kills.”

“I don't,” he started, then exhaled sharply through his nostrils. “I was . . . angry. I shouldn't have said that. I know you couldn't have killed the Galathynius's. You were just—god, how old _were_ you?”

“Too young,” Celaena said vaguely. “I hadn't begun my apprenticeship with Arobynn until after the Galathynius massacre—if you _must_ know.”

“I shouldn't have . . . I apologize,” he bit out, “for calling you a monster.”

Celaena scoffed, some of her icy chill melting off her as he rolled her eyes at him. “I am a monster, bird for brains, same as you and same as Maeve.” She stood up and placed her hand on the back of Rowan's seat before leaning down until he could feel the warm puffs of her breath on his face, “You sure have been asking a lot of questions, Rowan.” Something warm tingled down the length of his spine when she uttered his name. “And since I'm so wonderfully generous, I've thought of your next one for you: if I'm a monster, then who turned me into one?” Patting his shoulder lightly, Celaena walked out of the bakery without a second look back.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda like this one. Let me know if you did, too!


	5. Pool Sticks and Road Trips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens and a bargain is made.

Rowan knew that letting Celaena out of his sight was not an option. If he lost her now, he'd most likely never be able to find her again. Not on his terms, at least. And he couldn't go back to Maeve—or Arobynn, for that matter—empty handed. So after the golden haired assassin left the bakery, he waited sixty seconds before following her into the main streets of Rifthold. This part was easy. Now that he had her scent, Rowan could follow Celaena to the ends of the world. He was all but invisible, and would be harder to catch than the wind in one's fingers. He stayed three cars behind at all times, and, when possible, two lanes to the left. He trailed her down street after street, his green eyes never wavering from his target. Celaena was slippery, he knew that first hand. He wasn't going to let her slip away from him again.

Not taking his eyes off her generic blue car, Rowan pulled out his cell phone and called Vaughan. The white haired man knew when he needed help, and Vaughan was the best researcher in Erilea. He could dig up the dirt on anyone. Politicians hates him, lords of the underworld loved him, and Maeve owned him. Jaw twitching at the thought, Rowan waited patiently as the phone rang and rang. That wasn't unusual for the dark haired man, though. Vaughan was a man of few words, and often screened his calls to limit social interaction. Eventually the ringing stopped and a female automated voice told him to leave a message, “Vaughan,” he greeted, merging into the right lane when he noticed Celaena heading towards the off ramp. “It's me. I need help with some research. I need you to look into the Galathynius family—and their murders—ASAP. I need everything you can find. Thanks,” he hung up. Rowan wouldn't consider himself a man of few words, especially not compared to Vaughan, but he wasn't one to beat around the bush and waste his and Vaughan's time, either. “Where are you going?” He wondered aloud to himself as he followed Celaena down Main Street, past the Rifthold police department, fire department, justice building . . . all the way down to city hall. The tall, imperious building was one of a kind, and almost entirely made of stained glass. The mayor had sanctioned the extremely expensive renovation of the building immediately after he won his first election several decades ago. Rowan shook his head the the monstrosity, wondering how much, exactly, it had cost the city to build.

The cleaner didn't have time to put much more thought into the price of the building, though, when Celaena's car pulled into city hall's parking lot. Frowning, Rowan couldn't for the life of him fathom why Adarlan's Assassin would willingly walk into such a place. Instead of following her into the parking lot, the white haired male turned right and parked on the street two blocks away from his destination. Running his fingers through his hair, Rowan took in a deep breath before stepping out of his car and back tracking towards Celaena. Walking into city hall, Rowan found a security guard and asked, “Excuse me, my wife came in here just before me while I was parking the car, but I can't seem to find her,” he furrowed his brow and scoffed good naturedly. “Women, right? You take your eye of them for one second and—” he trailed off, rolling his eyes for extra measure and the security guard chuckled.

“Yeah, know what you mean. What's she look like?”

“Long blonde hair, white, about yay high,” he raised his hand to his shoulder before adding, “and gorgeous enough to make a model jealous.”

“A model, huh?” The guard scratched his chin, “Yeah, I saw someone that fit that description. Pretty little thing. She went down that way,” he jerked his thumb down the stair well. “Probably wanted to see the old vault—it's open to visitors during business hours, y'know?”

“I didn't know,” he did, but he decided he'd go with the wide eyed tourist look. “Thanks for you help.” Rowan headed down the stairs, smirking to himself. He knew it had been a gamble, parking so far away and giving Celaena such a head start in such a large building, but he also knew that nine out of ten secutity guards were men, and that Celaena was way too attractive to go anywhere without attracting the male gaze. That's what she got, he supposed, for being hotter than the freaking sun. He stepped off the stair well and looked down the hall in the direction of the vault, then walked in the opposite direction. The vault—an empty one, especially—held no interest for the assassin. There must have been something else drawing her down here. The sound of barking laughter, just barely audible, made his ears twitch, and gave Rowan a direction to start his search. Just a few hundred yards away was a solid oak door, muffling the sound of a woman and two men. Not bothering to knock, Rowan swung the door open and narrowed his eyes on a strange sight. Celaena—Adarlan's Assassin, Celaena—was standing off to the side of the room, a pool stick in her hand, looking for just a brief moment like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar before she quickly schooled her features. And on the other side of the pool table stood two men. Both looking at him with wide eyes and one with a mouth agape. Both whose presence was more shocking than the next. Closer to Celaena stood Chaol Westfall, son of the police commissioner and rising star of the police department, and closest to Rowan stood Dorian Havilliard, son of the mayor himself.

“Well, well, well,” Rowan growled, “what an interesting gathering of friends.”

Westfall moved fast—faster than Rowan would've given him credit for—and drew his gun, training it on the spot between Rowan's eyes. “Hands on your head, Whitethorn,” he ordered.

Barring his teeth at the younger man, Rowan slowly began to raise his hands, acting the part of a submissive criminal, ready to give himself in. Chaol's brown eyes stayed glued to his form, but he wasn't infallible, Rowan knew that was true of everyone, and he had to blink sometime.

There.

Rowan didn't hesitate. Diving to the ground, he ducked into a somersault well beneath the gun's range, and as he sprung out of his gymnastic movement, lunged for Westfall's waist, tackling him to the ground. Placing one hand around the police officer's neck, and the other around the wrist which held the gun, the Cleaner squeezed one and used the other to break the grip around the weapon. Forcing his knee into the man's sternum, Rowan secured the gun and placed it against Westfall's forehead. “Try that again,” he warned, leaning in, “and the next time you blink, your eyes will stay closed.”

Something hard and thin slapped against the side of his jaw. Flicking his eyes to his left, he saw Celaena standing over him, pool stick in hand and poised to strike. If it were anynone else, he'd have laughed outright—a pool stick, really?—but this was Adarlan's Assassin. And if Rowan could think of at least three ways to kill someone with that pool stick, he knew without a doubt that she had already thought of five. And considering the hard line of her mouth, and the fire burning behind her eyes, the white haired man knew she also wouldn't give him a second chance. “Put the rutting gun on the floor and get off my friend,” she hissed.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Rowan sighed and nodded. If it were anyone else, he thought. Or if he had just a bit more room between them. But it wasn't and he didn't, so he dropped the gun and peeled himself off the red faced police officer. “That's what I get for being distracted by a gun . . . I should have gone after the real weapon first,” he said, raising a brow at the assassin and adding a charming smirk to complete the look. “Interesting company you keep, Celaena.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” she never took her eyes off him—never blinked, either, damn her—and kept the pool stick trained on his chest. Her brow rose, mirroring his, “Didn't know you and Arobynn were so chummy.”

His smirk fell, “How'd you—?”

Her eyes glinted, “A little birdie told me. Now,” she finally relented and let the pool stick's point fall to the floor. Rowan knew better than to assume that meant she let her guard down, she could still bring him to his knees in less than three moves if she wanted. Westfall coughed to the side of them, but neither of their gazes wavered. “Why are you following me?”

“I told you,” he shrugged, forcing his muscles to relax so as to seem casual. It wouldn't work of Celaena, but if he could get one of the other two to let their guards down, step just a bit too close, the winds could easily change to his favor. “I need that ring.”

“Oh, yes,” her upper lip curled, “for Maeve.”

“I don't mean to interrupt,” a gentle voice called from behind Rowan and both criminals blinked. Then, continued their silent conversation from before.

_Truce?_  Celaena's eyes asked warily.

Rowan nodded slowly, _Truce._

“Or, well, actually I do,” that voice continued, much more forcefully and with a bit of bite than Rowan hadn't expected from the mayor's son. Both Rowan and Celaena turned to give the dark haired man their full attention. “Forgive me Celaena,” Dorian said in a tone that was not at all apologetic. “but will you be needing Chaol or my assistance now that our game has been interrupted? Or are we free to leave?”

Scoffing, Celaena rolled her eyes and cocked her hip, “Shut up, Dorian.” She said it like it answered his question. Her eyes flickered to Wesfall, whose neck was slowly turning a dark shade of purple, and her eyes softened. Rowan's nostrils flared dangerously, and he suddenly felt the impulse to throttle him all over again. Swallowing down the sudden rush of anger, Rowan tuned back in to the conversation. “Get out of here, you two. I'll call you both later.”

Dorian nodded, and took a step towards the door, the paused and took a deep breath before looking into Rowan's green eyes. “Just so you know,” he said in a low voice, “Celeana borrowed a book from me, and if anything happens to her and I never see that book again . . . I'll be very put out.” Havilliard turned heel and walked out of the room with his chin held high. Rowan supposed that was how politicians delivered threats. How strange. Westfall was more direct, though less articulate, as he left the room, making sure to check the white haired man's shoulder on his way out.

Once the door closed behind them, Rowan turned back around to find Aelin staring at him with her tongue sticking out. Snorting, Rowan shook his head, “That's attractive.”

Shrugging, she replied, “I know.” Rolling her neck, she tossed the pool stick onto the velvety green table top and sighed, “You're never going to give up on this ring thing, are you?” Rowan raised a brow. He didn't need to justify that question with an actual answer. Glaring at him, Celaena growled out, “Fine. I'll give it to you.” Rowan felt his shoulder slump in relief, but then she started talking again and all the tension that just bled out of him was drawn back, “On one condition.”

Holding back a groan, the Cleaner asked, “Which is?” He was really getting tired of doing everyone's dirty work. First the ring, then the necklace—which he still hadn't brought up to her—now this. His life was turning into a joke.

Smiling coyly at him, Celaena took a step closer and placed a hand on his chest, making his heart stutter traitorously, “Come away with me.”

“What?” He breathed out, sure he had heard her incorrectly.

“Come away with me. I'm going out of town for a few days and I want you to come along.”

All Rowan could think to ask was, “Why?”

“You're easy on the eyes,” she shrugged. He leveled her with a look and she grinned mischievously, “And I find road trips boring.”

“So bring one of your law abiding friends,” he jerked his chin towards the door that Westfall and Havilliard exited out of just minutes ago. “Or someone less likely to kill you in your sleep.”

“See? You're making things more exciting already,” she poked his chest, as if that settled everything. Then she held out her hand, “So, what do you say? We have a deal?”

“A few days on the road with you, and you'll willingly hand over the ring? No trickery?” Rowan clarified. Celaena nodded, her smile never wavering. Sighing and realizing this would be the path with least resistance, he nodded and shook his head. “Fine, we have a deal.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love how Rowan is basically this big, terrifying Cleaner of the underworld and yet finds himself consistently performing chores for people. Idk, it just gives me life. 
> 
> Just so you know, Chaol and Dorian will show up again--or at least, I plan for them to. And Aedion should show up within the next two? That's my hope, anyway. If you're wondering if any particular character will be making an appearance, just ask and I'll let you know. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed and please leave kudos or a comment and let me know what you thought!


	6. Border Edges Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan and Celaena stop on their road trip to grab some food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fic update? Does this . . . does this mean I'm alive?

Rowan saw Celaena's hand inching closer and he struck out, “Ow!” She cried, pulling her hand back to cradle it against her chest. “What was that for?”

Eye twitching, Rowan glared at her out of the corner of his eye and said, “You've changed the radio five times in the last five minutes, Celaena. Just choose an channel and stick with it, please,” he grounded out the last word. It was ridiculous, but true. The assassin had been fiddling with the damn radio ever since they'd gotten into the car just over two hours ago. At first he thought it was to avoid commercials—which was _fine_ —but then she'd just change the channel mid song. During songs Rowan actually liked, too! He didn't know if Celaena had an ADHD problem when it came to listening to songs, but if she did she needed to get a handle on it. Rowan's patience couldn't take it.

“So?” The blonde challenged, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. She looked out to window, taking in the scenery. Not that there was much to take in. Just open fields and the occasional cow now that they were well and far away from Rifthold.

“Just knock it off,” Rowan's hands tightened around the steering wheel. He needed to cool down, relax. Easier said than done, however, when one was sitting next to the underworld's best killer in a four door sedan. He didn't even know where they were going. ' _North_ ,' she had said, ' _We're heading north_.' His knuckles had turned white so with much mental effort, he forced himself to loosen his grip.

Raising a foot to rest on the dash, Celaena pouted, “I'm hungry.”

“You should've brought something to eat.”

“Oh look,” she pointed to a home made banner hanging from the back of a decrepit looking barn, “Ma and Pa's Diner. That's cute. Let's check it out.”

Rowan's green eyes flitted to the sign, then back to the empty road before him, “No,” he said.

“No? What do you mean ' _no_ '?”

“Surely this isn't the first time you've heard that word.”

“Oh, come on! It's just off the next exit. We're gonna have to stop somewhere anyway—we've got a long drive ahead.”

“What?” Rowan turned to look fully at her. “How far north are we going?”

Blinking slowly at him, a Cheshire grin stretched over her lips and she purred, “Take the next exit and I'll tell you.”

Holding back a snarl, Rowan's nostrils flared and he looked back to the road. The exit was approaching and he had to make a decision. Knowing he'd regret it later, he took the exit. Celaena hummed happily beside him, then reached again for the radio. Ma and Pa's Diner really was just off the exit and soon the establishment was in sight. “Well?” He asked, distracting her from her channel surfing. When she shook her head, confused, he continued, “Where are we going?”

Celaena transformed before him. Something in her changed, unraveled. Rowan couldn't understand it, but all of a sudden it was like he was looking at an entirely different person. Celaena looked . . . soft. The hard glint in her blue eyes had dulled, the sharp tension in her jaw loosened, her shoulders slumped down ever so slightly and her smile . . . Rowan hoped he'd never forget how she smiled at him now. It was pure, genuine, unadulterated. It was a smile he didn't think someone like her was capable of producing.

“Terrasen,” she said, her voice breathless and almost dreamy.

Gulping, Rowan realized his mouth had gone dry. His thoughts turned fuzzy and his brain felt like his funny bone when hit just so. That smile had short circuited him and he didn't know how to reboot.

“Finally,” Celaena's voice broke through the haze that clouded his mind and he blinked. They were in the diner's parking lot. The Cleaner thought, briefly, that he should be worried about having lost at least three minutes worth of time, but then the blonde was talking again and his thoughts hones in on her, “I'm starving.” She unbuckled her seat belt and, without waiting for Rowan, hopped out of the car.

Shaking his head, trying to shake the cob webs that had been weaved in his head, Rowan rubbed his fingers into his temples. He needed to refocus himself. This was just another cleaning job. True, it was an unusual one with all the running around and the fact that no one was dead—yet—but a cleaning job nevertheless. So what if she smiled at him? So what if it was the most beautiful smile he'd seen since—well, since a long time? She was an assassin, he reminded himself. _Adarlan's Assassin_. He dragged a hand down his face. It was an act, he told himself. All of it was just an act. A way to lull him into a false sense of security so she could . . . well, he wasn't sure what. Kill him most likely. Steeling himself, he decided two could play this game.

Getting out of his car and heading into the diner, Rowan quickly found Celaena sitting in a booth, perusing a menu. Sliding into the booth across from her, he asked, “What looks good?”

Blue eyes flashed up to his green ones, her curiosity piqued. Handing him the menu, she raised a brow in silent challenge, “Take a look for yourself.” _Why are you so interested now?_ Was the unspoken question swirling behind her eyes.

He took the menu and shrugged. _We're here aren't we? Might as well make the best of it._ Celaena hummed, “Their milkshakes sound delicious. And their cheese fries.”

“Let's hope everything tastes as good as it sounds.”

“Trust me honey,” a deep, raspy voice said. Rowan looked up to see their waitress, a stocky woman with short, curly red hair, staring down at him. She held a pad of paper in one hand and a pencil in the other, ready to take their order. The name tag on her white shirt read ' _Ma'_.

Celaena snorted. _I like her_ , her eyes seemed to say, _she ain't taking your shit._

Rowan almost rolled his eyes—it was a near miss—and glared at the assassin. _I wasn't giving her any shit_.

The blonde actually did roll her eyes, _Whatever your say, bird for brains._

Glaring harder, he wanted to strangle her. He wasn't giving anyone shit. He just wanted his food to taste good. “So what can I get for the two of you?” Ma asked.

“I'll have the double cheese burger with a side of cheese fries and a vanilla milkshake. Oh, and a slice of cherry pie, thanks.”

Ma nodded, writing it all down, and looked back to Rowan. “I'll have . . .” he trailed off, looking back at the menu. There were so many options and he hadn't much time to actually look at anything. “The same,” he finished lamely, handing Ma his menu. “Except a chocolate shake instead of vanilla.”

“Whatever floats your boat, sweet-cheeks,” she said monotonously before walking behind the counter and giving the kitchen their order.

Rowan watched after her for a few seconds, astounded. No one had ever called him sweet-cheeks before. No one had ever dared.

“Oh, I like her,” Celaena laughed.

“Yeah, you've said that,” Rowan turned back to look at her.

Celeane raised a brow and grinned, “Have I? Said it, that is? I don't think I have, actually.” Heat rose to his cheeks. She was right. She hadn't actually _said_ it. “Now, now, Mr. Whitethorn, hasn't anyone ever told you that reading people's minds is rude?”

_Shut up_ , his glare said.

_Make me_ , her toothy smile responded.

“Order up,” Ma's raspy voice announced as she placed to plates full of greasy food in front of them. “Hope you enjoy,” she gave Rowan a look and then left.

“So,” Celeana began, talking around a bite of her burger, “what's your story?”

The white haired man paused mid bite, “Excuse me?” Cheese feel from his fry. He glanced down, to make sure it didn't fall onto him, and then followed through with the bite.

“Your story,” she shrugged and wiped her mouth then began slurping up her vanilla shake.

“That's . . . personal,” and painful, if he was being honest. Flashes of dark skin and soft, chestnut hair crossed his memory and he shuddered. No, now wasn't the time for those memories.

The assassin snorted, “No shit. That's why I asked.” When she saw that he wasn't going to budge, wasn't going to tell her his story, she sighed. “Fine. Less personal. How'd you become a Cleaner?”

“How'd you become an assassin?” He bit out, not liking all the questions.

Celaena blinked, “Arobynn, of course,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “How else?” She shoved five fries into her mouth.

Taking advantage of her chewing, Rowan pressed, “And how did you come to be under his tutelage? You were, what, ten when you started your training? That's pretty young—even for our line of business.”

Swallowing, the assassin took her time washing down the fries with another sip of her shake before answering, “I was nine, actually, when Arobynn took me in.”

“Took you in?”

“He found me on the streets,” she shrugged. “I probably would've died if it weren't for him.”

“And your parents?”

And just like that Celaena shut down, and Rowan found himself sitting across from Adarlan's Assassin. Her mask went up and her eyes turned dull and cold. She tapped her index finger against the table top twice before saying, “Personal.”

Lifting a brow, the Cleaner raised his milkshake glass in a mock toast, _Not so fun, is it?_ Slowly, ever so slowly, the icy wall that the blonde had thrown up chipped away as Celaena began to relax again. “So . . .” he began slowly, “What's your favorite season?” It was the only thing he could think of—and he wanted to slap himself on the back of the head for it—but Celaena didn't call him out on it. In fact, she seemed interested—amused, even.

And then they began talking. About nothing and everything. Weather, clothes, music, fighting styles, past jobs, and so much more. Anytime either asked a questions the other didn't want to answer, they'd respond, “Personal,” and move on to the next topic. Rowan never thought he'd learn so much about a person without actually learning about them _personally_. He knew nothing about Celaena's past before Arobynn Hamel found her. He knew nothing of her family, her heritage, her childhood, but he knew her favorite color was green though she hardly ever wore it. Knew that summer was her favorite season because it was just one huge excuse to set off fireworks. Knew that she loved dogs, but had never had one because their profession didn't allow it. Over the course of one meal, Rowan Whitethorn had learned so many wonderful facts about Celaena Sardothien.

He also learned so many terrible facts. Like how she had a scar on the inside of her bicep from a job gone wrong, how she broke her own thumb to learn how to escape handcuffs so Arobynn wouldn't, how she'd first killed someone when she was eleven and had vomited as soon as she returned home. It was strange. Rowan felt as if he were completing a puzzle from the inside out. He didn't have the border, just the middle pieces to work off of. He had the main image, the substance of it all, but he didn't have the structure that gave it context. Without the border pieces, the edgeless pieces could go on forever. He'd get lost in it.

“Oops,” Celaena ducked behind her empty milkshake glass sheepishly, “Ma's glaring at us again.”

“Again?” Rowan looked over his shoulder and true enough, the older woman was staring straight at them with a hand on her hip and her fot tapping the floor impatiently. “Why?”

“Probably because we've been sitting here for two hours without ordering anything.”

Looking at the clock on his cell phone, Rowan hummed with surprise. Celaena for once wasn't using hyperbole. They really had been sitting in the diner for two hours. “Guess that means we should get going?”

“Unless we want to be added to the menu, I think that's a good idea.” Rowan reached into his coat pocket for his wallet, but Celaena reached over and stopped him with a hand on his bicep. “Don't worry, it's on me.” She pulled out a wad of cash from her own coat pocket and smiled crookedly, “Or, more accurately, it's on Arobynn.”

Brows raising to his hair line, Rowan whistled lowly, “I thought you two were on the outs.” At least, that's the impression he got when he visited the Assassin's Guild.

“Oh, we are,” Celaena cofirmed. Looking into his green eyes, she added, “Did I mention I know the combination to Arobynn's safe? No? Well,” she placed several bills beneath her milkshake glass, “he won't miss it.”

“You sure?” Rowan's mind began moving a mile a minute. Was that how she got her hands on Arobynn's necklace? She took it from his vault? If so, Arobynn was a bigger fool than Rowan had originally given him credit for. “He seems like the type to notice something like that.”

“Trust me,” she rolled her eyes and shrugged on her coat, “He's not. He keeps track of slights and kills, not money. One time a hundred dollar bill fell out of his pocket and he didn't even notice. Now come on,” she urged, sliding out of the booth, “Ma's making her way over here.”

“Fine, but you're driving,” he tossed her the keys, grabbed his coat and led the way out of the diner. Hearing her huff behind him, Rowan felt a smile pulling at his lips and he turned to walk backwards while facing her. “You know what this means right?”

“What? That I don't get to take a post gorging nap like I had planned?”

Chuckling, Rowan shook his head, “Well yes, that, but it also means I get control of the radio.”

Celaena squawked, quickening her pace to the car, “No it does not!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wait no, it was just a false alarm.


	7. Border Edges Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road trip continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the main thing to remember here is that I am not dead, nor is this fic. I am just a very lazy writer with an unfortunately busy social life. I'm working on it...

“We should stop here for the night,”  Celaena said, pulling into an empty rest stop parking lot.  

Rowan startled, he’d just closed his eyes for a second before Celaena’s voice broke through his small moment of peace. Frowning, he looked around, “What?  Here?”  There was nothing here.  It was just a parking lot, a large plot of land decorated with picnic tables, and a small restroom shack that was poorly lit.  From the looks of it, it didn’t even have a vending machine.

Celaena had been driving since the diner, and that had been over five hours ago.   Since then they’d stopped twice, once for a bathroom break, and once more to to grab dinner at a McDonald’s and stretch their legs.  So it was understandable, really, that Celaena was tired and would like to stop for the night.  Rest up for another full day of driving, no doubt, but here?  

“Yes, here,”  she looked at him with raised brows,  _ You got a problem with that?  _  She silently asked.

_ Why here? _  His eyes asked in return.  There was  _ nothing _ here, after all.  He couldn’t find the reasoning behind it.  “Why not stop at that Holiday Inn a few miles back?”

“A few miles back?”  Celaena repeated, a brow quirking in amusement.  “Rowan, that was over two hours ago.  You fell asleep, remember?”

“I fell asleep?”  His brows shot up and his green eyes darted to the clock on the dashboard.  She wasn’t lying.  “What the--” he muttered, dumbfounded.  It wasn’t like him to let his guard down like that, to allow himself to be so vulnerable, especially in front of someone as lethal as Celaena Sardothien.  Still, he realized as he took an internal inventory of himself, he felt refreshed.  He didn’t think that was possible, not from a two hour car nap.

Looking back at Celaena, he saw the look she was giving him,  _ You gonna repeat everything I say? _

Unable to help the grin forming on his lips, his eyes flashed with a challenge,  _ Maybe _ .  _ What’re you gonna do about it? _

Verbally, he asked again, “Why here?”

“We passed the border into Terrasen a few miles back.  We’re in Oakwald right now,” she shrugged, turning the car off, “no hotels in sight.”

“So, what,” Rowan asked suspiciously.  “We’re camping?”  Celaena, from the intel he’d gathered, didn’t seem like the camping type.  Not the woods type, anyway.  Maybe she’d go to a spa in the middle of a mountain range, but roughing it on the cold, hard ground?  Seemed unlikely.

“Mhm,” she hummed, unclipping her seatbelt and opening her door, “Tent and stuff’s in the trunk.”

And stuff was right.  In the trunk was a tent, two camping lanterns, three quilts, two blankets, a queen sized inflatable air mattress, and a few other odds and ends.  Whistling lowly, the white haired man asked, “Where’d you get all this?”  

“Walmart,” she crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her hands up and down her arms.  With the sun down it was getting a little chilly out.  She opened her mouth, then paused, contemplating if she wanted to continue.  Then, “My parents and I used to come here, when I was little, actually.  This was our camping spot.”

Rowan tried not to stare.  Really, he did, but that was the first piece of personal information she’d given him.  It felt . . . important.  Like the puzzle that was Celaena was starting to come together, like Rowan had received a precious border piece.  

“Now come on,” she said, grabbing a lamp and turning it on, “we gotta get this set up.  Preferably before sunrise.”  She grabbed the tent before smiling up at him, “I do need my beauty sleep after all.”

Rowan laughed and shook his head before grabbing the second lamp, the air mattress, and some blankets.  They spent the next half hour setting up the campsite, trying to make it as comfortable as possible for the night.  About halfway through the setup, Rowan realized there was only one tent, and only one air mattress, so, the avoid any possible awkwardness, offered, “I’ll take first watch.  Since I had the nap.”

Celaena shot him a wry look, but turned away before he was able to decipher what she was saying behind her gaze.  “Sounds good,” she said, then continued on with her work.  

Once everything was set up, Celaena went inside the bathroom shack to attempt to freshen up.  Rowan stayed behind to look after everything and was laying down on his back, looking up at the night sky--he could even make out the Lord of the North--when his phone began to buzz.  Pulling it out from his pocket, Rowan accepted the call, “Vaughan,” he greeted.

“Rowan,” the other man answered.  Vaughan was a straightforward man, a business man through and through, and never liked to waste words.  So Rowan wasn’t surprised when he got straight to the point, “Orlon Galathynius, born in Orynth, Terrasen in 1940.  Occupation: Owner and CEO of  Galathynius Inc., a business conglomerate that included, but was not limited to, shipping services, construction work, and steel manufacturing.  Married Weylan Darrow in 1963 and was widowed in 2001.  He was murdered in his estate in Orynth in 2006, and, with no living heir, his business and all his assets passed to his only living relative: Maeve.  

“Rhoe Galathynius, Orlon’s only son, was born in Orynth in 1965 through an unnamed surrogate.  He was raised to inherit the Galathynius business, and specialized in revitalization projects; most notably, restoring the Library of Orynth.  In 1987 he married Evalin Ashryver, and in 1995 they had their first, and only child, Aelin.  

“As with Orlon, both Rhoe and Evalin were killed in 2006 while visiting the family estate.  All three persons had their throats slit in their sleep, and it was deemed a cold case by the police after three months of investigation.  There were no leads, and no suspects, save for Adarlan’s Assassin, but that was never substantiated.”

Rowan nodded to himself.  That was everything he’d discovered on his own.  Still, something was missing.  Thinking back to his conversation with Celaena back in that bakery, he asked, “And the granddaughter?  Aelin?”

A beat, and then, “That’s where things get . . . weird.”  Rowan sat up, intrigued.  “Her body was never found at the crime scene, and at first the police believed it to be a kidnapping; a ransom.  But after a week with no call, they categorized her as a missing person and . . .” he drifted off.

“And?”  Rowan prompted, confused by his colleagues hesitation.  

“And,” Vaughan continued with a sigh, “that’s it.  Officially.  There’s no more police reports about her.  They just . . . stopped looking.  Usually, when it comes to little white girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, the entire country puts out a man hunt, but for Aelin . . . there was one media blast with her picture and some other details, but that’s it.

“There were rumors, of course,” he added, hesitantly.  Rowan didn’t think he’d ever talked so much in one go.  “Rumors that whoever killed the Galathynius’s took Aelin and chopped her up into tiny pieces,” Rowan hummed.  He’d heard that one before.  “That she got away from the attackers and has been living on the run ever since.  That whoever killed her family raised her as their own.  It’s all bull shit.”

Licking his lips, Rowan asked, “Did you find a picture of Aelin?”  He hadn’t thought to look for it earlier.  He hadn’t looked for any pictures besides the crime scene ones, truthfully.  But something wrinkled in the back of his mind.  Vaughan hummed an affirmative.  “Send it to me.”  He paused, then asked, “Was there anything else?”

“No.”  And then the line went dead.  

Rowan shook his head and chuckled under his breath.  Celaena walked up behind him and asked, “What’s so funny?”  Her eyes said,  _ What’d you do?    _

Shaking his head, he responded, “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

Raising a brow, but not pushing it, Celaena headed for the tent, “Okay, wake me up in, what?  Four hours?”

“Sure.”  He fiddled with his phone, setting a timer, when a text from Vaughan came in.  Opening it, Rowan’s brows furrowed as he registered what he was looking at.  It was a picture of Aelin Galathynius, he knew that.  He’d asked for it.  But she looked just like . . . green eyes snapping over to Celaena’s form, lying on the air mattress, Rowan felt something shudder in his psyche.  Suddenly, with blinding clarity, he had all his border pieces.

“Aelin,” he called out quietly, a test.  He knew he was right, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be.  Celaena didn’t move, and Rowan’s heart thundered in his chest.  He realized he’d been too quiet, so he tried again, “Aelin?”

“Hmm?”  She cracked an eye open to look at him.  It only took a moment, just enough time for her to blink at him, for her to realize her mistake.  Eyes wide, she shot up in the tent, a Swiss Army Knife at the ready in her hand.  So many things, so many words, emotions, scenarios flashed behind her blue eyes.  

Not moving, Rowan tried to come off as non-threatening as possible,  _ I’m sorry _ , his eyes said.   _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry _ .  But with his voice, he said, “You can put the knife down, Aelin.  I’m not going to hurt you.”

Adarlan’s Assassin barred her teeth at him, “As if you could.”

Raising his hands, Rowan tried again, “Aelin--”

“ _ Don’t call me that! _ ”

“--what  _ happened _ to you?”  She was a child, Rowan thought, just a child when her family was stolen from her in the dead of night.  When she lost her childhood.  If Rowan had one rule, if anyone in the Underworld had one rule, it was to never harm a child.  Aelin was only nine when the assassin came for her family, only nine when--

“ _ Maeve _ happened to me,” she snarled, her blue eyes shining with golden fire.  Her knuckles, still clutching the knife, though it was no longer pointed at him, had turned white.  

Rowan blinked, his brows furrowing as he stared uncomprehendingly.  That didn’t make any sense, Maeve wouldn’t have done this.  Rowan knew Maeve, had been in her service for almost a decade now.  She was the one who made the rules--who enforced them--she was Aelin’s family.  There was some miscommunication somewhere, Rowan knew it.  He just had to get Aelin talking, get her talking and then he could sort this all out.  He could sort everything out.  He was a  _ Cleaner _ for rutting sake, he could  _ fix _ this--

Bright lights flared up in the distance, blinding Rowan and making Aelin flinch.  The sound of engines revving thundering as a horde of motorcycles pulled into the parking lot.  “Shit,” he heard Aelin curse behind him.

“You know them?”  Rowan asked, his gut already telling him the answer.  He wished he had his gun on him, but the daggers strapped to his ankles would have to do.

“It’s The Bane,” Aelin told him.

The Bane.  A Terrasen based gang whose sole purpose was to wreak havoc for the crime bosses of Rifthold.  What the rutting hell were they doing here?  Now?  What were the odds?  Narrowing his eyes, he glared at Aelin,  _ You knew they were coming, didn’t you?  _

Aelin wasn’t looking at him, though.  She was looking straight ahead, at the leader of The Bane who was dismounting his bike.  Pulling his helmet off, the gang leader’s long, golden blond hair fell around his shoulders in waves.  Pushing it out of his face, he walked towards them with a cocky smirk adorning his face.  

As he came closer, Rowan realized with a start that he was looking at the male version of Aelin.  They were almost identical.  

The gang leader had eyes only for Aelin, and walked straight up to her.  Aelin, for her part, scowled at him and looked ready to throw a punch.  Maybe Rowan was wrong, maybe she didn’t know they were coming.

“You’re early,” Aelin said, crossing her arms over her chest.  So she did know.  Rowan could throttle her for this.  He barred his teeth at her, but she steadfastly ignored her.  

Shrugging, the gang leader’s smirk widened, “Patience was never my virtue, cousin.”  _  Cousin? _  Well, that cleared up their resemblance.  But, Rowan thought indignantly,  _ cousins _ ?

Finally, Aelin’s stony expression relented and she smiled softly up at the gang leader.  Reaching up to pull him in close for an embrace, she whispered, so low only Rowan who was so close could hear, “I missed you, Aedion.”            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought by leaving a comment/kudos!


	8. Bombs Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan has some unsavory truths presented to him, which is steadfastly ignores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIIIVE!!!! (And so does this fic!)

“Who’s that?”  Aedion asked, his voice barely more than a growl as he noticed Rowan standing to the side.  Pushing his cousin behind him, the leader of the Bane stared down the white haired Cleaner with a snarl on his lips. 

Brows raising, Rowan locked eyes with Celeana. No, he corrected himself sharply.  Aelin. Her name was Aelin. He clenched his jaw.  _ He realizes I can flatten him in two seconds, right?  _  Then, after a blink, added,  _ He realizes  _ you _ can flatten him in two seconds, right?   _ Who was the gang leader kidding?  Aelin wasn’t some princess that needed protecting.

Aelin shrugged,  _ He’s protective, all right?  With good reason. _

“This is Rowan Whitethorn,” she said, and Aedion sucked in a sharp breath.

“Rowan Whitethorn?”  The blonde male repeated, his face twisting with rage as he turned to look down at his cousin.  “Rowan  _ fucking _ Whitethorn?  Maeve’s personal Cleaner?  Why in the  _ rutting hell  _ would you bring him here?”

Giving her taller half a shove, Aelin told him, “Don’t worry about that right now.” She jerked her chin towards the rest of the biker gang, “How’s it going on your end?  Everything in place?”

Jaw clenching, Aedion nodded, “Yeah, everything’s ready.  Did you want to go now, or,” he sent a glare Rowan’s way, “wait until tomorrow?”  From the look in his eyes, Rowan could tell the gang leader wanted Aelin to choose the latter.  He probably wanted her to use the extra time to get rid of him. It wasn’t a bad idea, if Rowan were being honest.  

Looking over at the bikers, at Aelin, he began to wonder--not for the first time--why she brought him along on the road trip in the first place.  

“Might as well go now,” Aelin decided, running a hand through her hair.  Rowan’s heart thumped loudly in his chest. His eye twitched at the traitorous organ and he turned his face away.  “Since we’re all here now,” she continued.

“We are,” Aedion said slowly, giving Rowan a pointed look.  “We really, really are.” Rowan stared the man down, unblinking.  Raising a brow, he silently said,  _ Think you can take me, cub? _

Smiling in a manner that had surely made lesser men throw a punch, Aedion responded,  _ Any place, any time, Cleaner. _

“All right, all right, enough with the pissing contest.” Aelin rolled her eyes, finished with the two men standing next to her.  “Aedion, you take the Bane back to the manor. Rowan and I will follow behind once we clean all this up,” she jerked her thumb at their campsite.  

Mouth tightening, Aedion took a step closer to his cousin, “You sure?”  

Rowan snorted.  If he wanted Aelin dead, she’d be dead by now.  Or he'd be dead. He still wasn’t sure how a fight between them would end.       

Aelin watched as her cousin drove away. The headlights from their bikes illuminated the campgrounds as they went. Then, everything was dark.

Turning to look at him, all the tenderness that had just been on Aelin's face vanished like it was wiped clean. Once again Rowan found himself staring into the eyes of Adarlan’s Assassin. A creature with no love, no mercy.

Steeling himself, Rowan felt the cool waves of the killing calm wash over him. “So that's it?” He asked tightly, “You brought me all the way out here just to kill me?”

Calculating eyes traced his figure. Crossing her arms over her chest, Aelin replied slowly, “That’s up to you.”

Rowan cocked his head,  _ Oh? _

Aelin nodded. “I’ve heard of you, Rowan. Your skills are impressive.” Rowan's eyes narrowed. She'd already pulled this trick back when they first met. Next she'd be saying how handsome he was.

“But even more impressive,” Rowan swore if she mentioned his biceps again, he'd-- “is your reputation for mercy.”

Rowan blinked once. Then twice. Thrice. Aelin smirked at his confusion, which must've been evident on his face, “You don't kill children, or pregnant mothers. You're not a sadist like Cairn. You're efficient, but not nearly as brutal as Lorcan. In our line of work, that's as merciful as it gets.”

Aelin took a deep breath, forcing her shoulders to relax. “That's why I didn't kill you. And trust me,” she bared her teeth at him, “I've had plenty of chances.”

Holding back a wince, Rowan thought about the two hour nap he'd taken not too long ago. It would've been all too easy to kill him then.

“I want you to join me, join  _ us _ ,” she gestured towards the parking lot where the Bane had been not too long ago. “Help us take down Maeve.”

“What?” Rowan hissed. He couldn't have heard her correctly. Take down Maeve? That was impossible. The Queen of Darkness had ruled Donanelle's underworld for half a century and not through sheer dumb luck. Maeve had fail-safe upon fail-safe, millions of dollars hidden in domestic banks and foreign. She ruled her territory with an iron fist and a strict code. A code which Rowan himself enforced.

Aelin was suicidal.

“Don't give me that look,” she snapped. “This isn't some half baked scheme I thought of just the other day. She engineered her own demise the day she killed my family.”

“She didn't kill your family.” Rowan punched the bridge of his nose. His mind flashed back to the last conversation he'd had with his mistress. There'd been tears in her eyes when she spoke of her brother and his murder. He'd been able to feel her pain that day.

Aelin was wrong. She was confused. She'd only been a child when her family was killed. Someone must've poisoned her against Maeve, fed her false information. And there was only one person that could have done that.

“Arobynn,” Rowan growled. “Arobynn told you it was Maeve, didn't he?” Aelin’s mouth tightened, but she didn't interrupt him. “Can’t you see, Aelin? Arobynn is orchestrating all of this!”

He didn't know the exact motivation behind the King of Assassins. Maybe the man wanted Maeve’s territory, maybe he wanted her wealth. And using Aelin, Maeve’s last living relative, to take her down, was genius. Once again a pair of tearful eyes sprang to Rowan’s mind. If it came down to it, Maeve might not be able to kill her niece.

“Arobynn is guilty of many things,” Aelin said quietly, her face turning almost white with anger. “But not this.”

“How can you be so sure?” Rowan took a tentative step forward. When Aelin didn't move for a weapon, or take a step back, he stalked closer. “How can you be so sure this isn't--”

“Because I  _ saw _ her!” Her words were a snarl, her body a living flame of pure, undiluted hatred.

Fists tightening, Aelin’s upper lip twitch as she reigned in her emotions.  “It was raining the night she came. I was,” she swallowed thickly, her eyes clouded with memories of the past.  “I was supposed to be asleep. But, but the storm--the lightning and thunder--woke me up. I was scared,” her face pinched, like she was ashamed to admit she’d ever been afraid before.  

Rowan watched, with wide green eyes, as the woman in front of him--the assassin--brought down her walls and defenses and allowed him to see her.  Really  _ see _ her.  

“I went to find my parents, their room was just down the hall from mine.  But,” silver lined her eyes, “but there was a light on downstairs, and I knew it was my grandfather,” her lips twitched up into a shadow of a smile, “It was always my grandfather.”  Shaking her head, she continued, “And I went downstairs, hoping he’d make me some hot chocolate or read me a story.”

The smile vanished, “That’s when I saw her.  Maeve.” Her eyes snapped to him, the gold standing out in the dark of the night, illuminated by the dim lamp lighting.  “Your queen,” she growled. “She was with my grandfather, with that  _ godsdamned _ smile on her face.”

Rowan couldn’t stay quiet any longer.  Shaking his head, he said, “No. No, Aelin.  They were siblings. It’s not unusual for siblings to--”

“Not unusual?”  Aelin cut off with a hollow laugh.  “My grandfather hadn’t seen his sister in years!   _ Decades _ !  He hated her and her business.  He wanted nothing to do with her underworld life. Hell, he moved to Terrassen to get away from her!”  

No, it still didn’t add up.  The ring--Mave wanted the ring because of what her brother meant to her.  She wouldn’t want it so badly--wouldn’t care about it--if  _ Orlon _ hadn’t meant so much to her.

Simmering, Aelin sighed and looked away. “My grandfather was a kind man. Too kind.” She closed her eyes and kept them closed. Rowan knew it was to keep the tears from falling. “Maeve took advantage of that kindness.”

Inhaling a shuddering breath, Aelin opened her eyes and placed a hand into her back pocket. “She came into our home with crocodile tears in her eyes, empty promises on her lips and false gifts in her hands.”

From her back pocket Aelin pulled out the simple golden ring she'd stolen barely a week ago. The small ring glinted against the camp light, just begging him to reach out and take it. He could take it, right here and now, steal the car and be back in Doranelle before the sun rose.

But then her words sank in. “No,” his brows furrowed. “Maeve told me,” Aelin snarled, but he continued, “she gave Orlon that ring when they were younger.” When it was just the two of them against the world. That's what she'd said.

Gritting his teeth, Rowan said, “She gave him that ring as a symbol of her love, Aelin. She wants it back because she loved your grandfather.”

_ Is that so? _ Her eyes said as her jaw tightened and her upper lip twitched with disgust. Cocking her head to the side, she did something he never would have expected

She tossed him the ring.

Catching it reflexively, Rowan stared at the assassin in shock. She'd just given up what she'd worked so hard to steal.

“Then why is it laced with poison?”

And just like that, a bomb was dropped.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I had some extra time this week and thought to update this fic. I have a pretty good layout for the next few chapters too so hopefully it won't take me so long to update again. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left a comment or kudos during the hiatus, please keep that up so I know people are still interested in reading this.

**Author's Note:**

> I miiiight continue this based off its reception. I have an idea for at least one more chapter, so leave a comment and let me know what you thought!


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